


Falling on My Face Again, So I Know I'm Right on Track

by SeptemberEndings



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: A lil bit of angst (not much), A lil bit of pining, But hey! Muke, I'm sorry cuz Calum's barely in this, M/M, Soulmate AU, Soulmate Color AU, he doesn't even have a speaking role I think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 07:48:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3802468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeptemberEndings/pseuds/SeptemberEndings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The colors keep coming, no matter what Michael does.</p><p>It's actually kind of ridiculous, if Michael thinks about it, because he and Luke remain at an arm's length at all times now. He's not sure whether it was him or Luke who started pulling away, but now it's like they're countries apart in terms of friendship. When Luke thinks that Michael's not looking,he gives him these looks that can only be described as forlorn. Michael ignores the looks, and Luke, and he ignores the colors that keep bleeding into his vision too.</p><p>And they wash in like a tidal wave, too; pinks and reds and oranges and greens mixing and pushing together, forming mush in his brain. </p><p>*Or, the one where people start seeing colors whenever they start falling in love with their soul mate, and it really should be that simple but it's not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling on My Face Again, So I Know I'm Right on Track

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I tried my best on this one but I'll be the first to admit it definitely has flaws, so if you have any criticisms be sure to leave them in the comments below?

Michael's in the middle of band practice when his first color comes.

He doesn't actually notice it at first--he's too focused, fingers flying over his strings, picking out and stringing together melodies, wrapped up in the music. But, halfway through, he gets a three-beat break, and during that time he just happens to glance over at Luke.

He's leaning on his microphone stand, guitar slung across his body lazily, sweat making his shirt stick to his body in all the right places. And Luke glances over, and his smile is wide and absolutely nerdy, and then it's time for Michael to come back in and he's smashing chords again, not even noticing that his pick had turned into a weird gray-but-not-gray.

In fact, Michael doesn't notice until the song's over and Luke smiles again, the color glittering in Luke's usual gray-and-white eyes.

At which point, Michael lets out a very not punk rock squeal and feels his knees get suddenly loose and unsteady.

The smile drops from Luke's face but the color doesn't drop from his eyes. "Mike? Are. Are you okay?" Luke asks, and there's so much concern there but Michael can't really handle it at the moment.

"Um. Well. I need. Moment? Yeah, I need a moment. Um, just. Wait." And Michael takes off from the stage, gripping his stupid colored pick and ignoring the confused looks on his friends' faces.

Michael doesn't stop until he feels his ankles get sore and cracked, and then he pulls off his shoes and just sits down where he is, because whoa.

Some color had popped up halfway through a song. Which meant he was falling in love. With his soul mate, too, which is like. He wasn't in love. That was simple. He just wasn't.

But something had appeared and right after Michael had looked over at Luke too, so.

Fuck.

Barely, in some part of his mind, Michael realizes that he's outside and he doesn't actually quite know where he is. Wet grass is soaking into his jeans, and the curb is cutting uncomfortably into his thighs, and Michael knows he should probably head back.

He glances up. And then stops.

The sky was full of the color, beautiful and big and serene, with the flat gray circle in the middle that was the sun.

Michael remembers in school, that his primary school teacher had gotten her colors. One day, she'd skipped into class, practically cheering that the sky's blue! The sky's blue! The sky's blue and beautiful! And the kids had all laughed at the overjoyed expression on her face but all Michael wishes right now is that he could have the same expression, have the reason to have that same expression.

Michael held up his pick, dark like the black night sky. It was still blue, though. Just like the sky was blue.

And just like Luke's eyes were blue.

And the sky was beautiful and his pick was pretty, but it just couldn't compare to Luke's eyes in his opinion.

Because Luke's eyes could twinkle and dance and skip and say a thousand words that Luke never would. Luke's eyes were important and beautiful and blue.

Michael groaned.

He. Was. So. Fucked.

***

After a lot of thought on it, Michael decides that Luke's eyes are actually sea-colored.

He's told that the sea has a lot more colors than just the pale, sparkling blue that echoes through the waves before washing white on shore, but all Michael can see is the pale and dark blue mixed in with swirling hues of gray, which is both relieving and kind of disappointing. But the problem with the sea, and the problem with Luke's eyes, is that it never is a stationary blues. They switch and leap and bound away, turning into a kaleidoscope of slippery robin's egg blues and navy-black colors, and Michael's never seen anything as beautiful as Luke's eyes. Not even the sea, with its charcoals and whites and blue blue blues.

And after six beers and too little hours of sleep one night, Michael blurts exactly that out to Luke. His words are so slurred he's not really sure how anyone can actually make out what he's saying, but somehow he stumbles out, "Luke, your eyes are pretty."

Calum and Ashton laugh and Luke's cheeks turn a darker gray before he humbly replies, "Well, thanks Mikey."

"Nah. I mean it," Michael insists. He can't really feel his head on his shoulders, but Michael figures it's not too much of a problem.

"I'm sure."

"No, you don'...don't understand," Michael groans tossing his weightless head back. "You don't get how pretty they are."

Calum and Ashton actually guffaw. Like, Michael never actually thought that people could guffaw, and if he was any less drunk he'd put some thought into that, but he's too drunk and too focused on Luke's sea eyes.

"Um. Okay?" Luke says, not sure where Michael's headed. Michael's not sure either, but he's running forward with no eyes and even less sense.

"Like, they're like this blueberry color one minute, and then it's like pale and shit the next. Your eyes are like the fucking sea, Lukey," Michael says, and he doesn't realize what he said until Calum and Ashton actually tense up, exchanging weird looks with each other and then with Luke.

Luke gives a hard swallow, and Michael notices his hands are kind of shaking. "Lukey?" Michael says, not understanding.

"Um. I think. It's time, to uh, get you to bed," Luke says quickly, looking over at Calum and Ashton, who both nod a little too eagerly. They still haven't relaxed yet, and Michael doesn't get why.

Michael groans, clutching at his beer. "'m not sleepy though," he whines. "Alcohol. Good."

"Michael," Luke says, and it's more high-pitched than it should be. In the back of Michael's mind, he thinks he sees water welling up at the base of Luke's sea eyes, and he frowns. "You really should get to bed."

"I don' wanna."

"C'mon," Luke says, and he really is on the verge of tears as he hauls Michael up and out of his seat. Michael says nothing, and stumbles a little trying to follow Luke out into their shared room. Luke's shoulders are trembling a bit too much, and Michael feels kind of like a little kid that just got into trouble.

Luckily, their room is only a few steps over from Calum and Ashton's, so they get there fairly quickly. Michael just flops onto the first bed he can find, ignoring the way his stomach twisted uncomfortably.

Luke leans against their door, his shoulders still shaking, and Michael can hear quiet sobs working their way out of Luke's mouth. Michael frowns again, because Luke wasn't supposed to be sad. That wasn't supposed to happen. "Lukey?"

There's a huge sniffle and Luke says softly, too softly, "Yeah?"

"Why you cryin?" he asks, feeling like his mind is filled with a fog bank of alcohol. "You're...not s'posed to be sad."

"I can't see colors."

Oh. God.

Michael's heart thuds in his chest and he's pretty sure that's the last time it'll beat, because sure, Michael's still alive, but he's pretty sure that's not what constitutes being alive. Being alive shouldn't hurt so goddamned much.

Michael obviously knew that Luke couldn't see colors--like, if he did, Michael wouldn't be in the habit of hiding his blue. But at the same time, Michael didn't _know_ , and now he did and it felt like his fucking blood was on fire and his skin was turning into sand and he was going to burn out and blow away but the pain was never going to stop.

"Oh." It's small and sad and simple and there's no better way to sum up him right now.

"It's cuz. I'm in love. With someone else, and they can see colors, and. I just," Luke hiccups and laughs but it's definitely not a nice one, "wanna be happy, y'know?"

"C'mere," Michael says, sticking out an arm, and he can hear the sigh but Luke comes anyway, folding himself into Michael.

They're both quiet for what seems like forever. Then, "you know, I can only see blue."

"Yeah?" It's just as small and sad as Michael feels. He thinks they make a good pair.

"Yeah."

They're both silent, and Michael feels on the verge of sleep, but he needs to get something out one last time. He sucks in a deep breath. "And, I gotta say, you have the prettiest blue eyes I've ever seen. Someone could fall in love a thousand times over."

And then Michael's asleep, too fast to hear the choked sound of angry laughter coming from his best friend.

***

Michael wakes up with a throbbing head, morning breath, and his arm pressed up against Luke.

The first thing he does is groan because he feels morning light piercing at his eyes and it's just too damn early, so he  buries himself deeper into the covers. And, apparently, Luke's side, because he pushes himself (half-accidentally) into a grayish cotton t-shirt that smells like laundry mixed with lemon-mint mixed with something else entirely Luke. He lets out a little sigh and grasps at the shirt like a toddler with a stuffed animal.

He hears a wisp of a laugh before a hand comes down to card through Michael's hair, and somehow Michael's hangover doesn't seem quite so bad anymore. "Y'know, you'll have to get up sometime," Luke says quietly, and Michael can feel the vibrations of Luke's words on Luke's chest.

"'s too early," is Michael's muttered response. It really was. Michael could still feel the crust of sleep around his eyes, and the sun was too low in the sky for Michael's taste. "Need sleep. Wake me up later."

"Michael, it's nine in the morning," was Luke's brilliant response.

"Shut up, Luke." Michael pushes his face even deeper into Luke. He hears a deep chuckle from Luke, but he still gently pulls away from Michael, prying Michael's fingers off of his worn shirt.

"Michael, c'mon," Luke said. "We need to talk."

"Don't wanna," Michael muttered, not opening his eyes. "Head hurts."

"That's usually what happens when you get that drunk," Luke supplied oh-so-helpfully.

Michael groaned. "Shut  _up,_ Luke."

"Michael," Luke said again, but this time it held something deeper, harder. Michael bit his lip so hard he could feel blood bubbling up, and pushed himself up and off the bed, blinking harsh daylight out of his eyes. 

Luke's staring at him, perched at the end of the bed. His eyes are watery and  _so_ blue, and his expression screamed something at Michael that he couldn't understand over the pounding in Michael's ears. "What's wrong?" Michael asked quietly.

"You see blue," Luke said, and it's not even a statement. It slips out like an electric current between them, filling every particle of Michael with some kind of weird adrenaline energy. He nods because there's nothing else to say.

Luke exhales and inhales and exhales again. "Right," he says, and he's steeling himself from something. Michael sees the tears preparing themselves at the edges of Luke's eyes. "Who?"

Michael blinks. "What?"

"Who is it? Your soul mate, I mean," Luke says. He kicks at the ground, an ugly smile twisting around his lips. "The person you're supposed to spend the rest of your life with. Who, Michael?"

Right. That part of the colors.

Michael always believed in honesty and all that shit about it being the best policy, but there was no way for this conversation to go well with either the truth or a web of lies. Because you can't hide this from someone but you can't keep it from them either, and Michael feels like he's in some sort of weird limbo where if he stretches this moment out forever then his nerves will always be on the edge of snapping, and he'll always be at the buildup of all of the anxiety in the pit of his stomach.

Michael breathes out and breaks the moment. "That'd be you. I think."

Luke's eyes snap up. "Oh."

Michael snorts. "Oh?"

"Oh," Luke says again. "I mean, like. I thought. And now. Okay, yeah. Okay."

"Quite eloquent there, Lukey," Michael says, his eyebrows raising. "Seriously? That's it?"

"I thought I was in love with you and you were already falling for someone else," Luke confesses and god, okay.

That was a problem for both of them.

"Why don't you see colors then?" Michael asks, and his voice sounds more accusing than anything else, but honestly he felt like no one could blame him for that.

"I don't know," Luke said. "Maybe--"

"No. Don't say it," Michael said softly. "You cannot say that to me."

"I won't," Luke said, but the guilt painted on his face is enough to cause Michael to gag.

Michael stands up abruptly. The air in the room is getting too thick and it's swirling around him and wrapping him up so tightly he can't breathe through it, and Michael just  _needs to get out._ "I'm gonna go," he says, but it sounds stupidly choked up and upset. Because he is upset.

Luke doesn't need to know that.

"Wait--" Luke starts.

"No," Michael stops him. "It's okay. It really is. Just. Like. We can totally be platonic. I get it, it's fine."

"But, I still like you," Luke insists, his eyes big and blue and annoying. Michael feels sick and he can't tell if it's because of his hangover or the way his heart flutters at Luke's expression.

"Obviously not enough," Michael says. It's dramatic and grand, but he feels like he's entitled to that much. 

Luke doesn't say anything else. He can't say anything else.

Michael walks out of the hotel room, not caring that he's in yesterday's clothes and his hair is messed up. He doesn't care that he feels sick and his head is drumming out a rhythm completely foreign to him and he certainly  _doesn't_ care that yet another color is blooming at the edge of his vision, big and bold and heated and angry in strict contrast to his perfect, serene blue.

Michael wonders if it's really too early to get drunk again.

* * *

 

The colors keep coming, no matter what Michael does.

It's actually kind of ridiculous, if Michael thinks about it, because he and Luke remain at an arm's length at all times now. He's not sure whether it was him or Luke who started pulling away, but now it's like they're countries apart in terms of friendship. When Luke thinks that Michael's not looking,he gives him these _looks_ that can only be described as forlorn. Michael ignores the looks, and Luke, and he ignores the colors that keep bleeding into his vision too.

And they wash in like a tidal wave, too; pinks and reds and oranges and greens mixing and pushing together, forming mush in his brain. 

Michael learns that Calum's eyes are a rich brown and that Ashton's eyes are almost indescribable. He learns that all of America's currency is this washed-out green that weirdly matches the way the money smells, and he learns that his own eyes are a startling, intense blue-gray-green. He learns that the sun is bright and yellow and twilight is beautiful because of all of the colors that slip into the sky, and he learns that his skin is nearly porcelain while Calum's is this thick, syrupy golden color.

And he learns this from falling in love with a boy he's trying so hard to pull away from but he just  _can't._  Every smile that Luke throws into the wind throws other colors into Michael's vision. Every careless look towards Michael, every note sung remotely well, every fucking  _breath_ means a brighter world for Michael.

And he hates it.

God knows that Michael's tried to stop--he's listed out every bad flaw of Luke's and written a thousand words about how much he hated Luke and he's prayed to every god he can think of that when he wakes up his world will be in black and white, but every single time he wakes up his world is still a constant of rainbow colors and fucking yellow light bouncing off of green grass. 

Seriously, fuck whoever decided it would be a good idea to make Luke his soul mate.

They keep coming, flooding into his vision and overwhelming everything, and Michael hates himself for it.

So he pulls back further and further until he's in the band but  _not_ in the band, and the colors are still pulling into his world but Luke stops smiling at him and instead shoots him concerned looks that match Calum and Ashton's.

But he can't do anything, and feels trapped under his own skin and he hates that he can recognize different shades of purple instead of different shades of gray.

And one day he wakes up and there's no more color to decorate his world, and he doesn't know whether to be relieved or scared or anything. Gray is now just gray, not some unknown color, and his room is blue and his curtains are green and his shirt is black with a neon orange logo on the back. He feels like cussing out the entire world and going back to sleep.

But he doesn't, and that same day he finds a box of hair dye at the grocery store when he's  _supposed_ to be looking for milk or some shit.

It's this positively horrendous shade of red and no one's paying attention to it because no one can see it except for him, and he finds himself reaching for it, something that is most definitely not a grin on his face (but it's not a frown either, and that's something). And without even a thought about it, he puts it in his cart, hidden behind a couple cans of Campbell's chicken and rice soup. He goes off to find the milk, the hair dye rattling against the cans loudly.

The next day when he wakes up, his hair is a red brighter than the Little Mermaid's. When he looks in the mirror and sees the bright color set against every other color he can see, it sets something heavy in the pit of his stomach, but he doesn't feel like scratching at his skin until it's blistered and torn, so it's better. It's good.

When he walks into the kitchen, Calum and Ashton hardly spare him a second glance, but Luke kind of stares.

He's eating cereal and his spoon is poised halfway between his mouth and the bowl, his eyes wide and confused as he stares at Michael, but not Michael really. Michael frowns. "You okay?" he asks Luke, vaguely concerned.

"Um," is all Luke says, before his peach skin is whitewashed and he rushes out of the room.

Michael frowns. "Weird."

Calum nods, and Ashton nods, and that's all there is to say before they settle down to eat.

For once, Michael feels at peace. He messes with his hair for a while, the something heavy still in his stomach. It's comforting, somehow. 

By the end of the day, Michael decides he likes it and picks up three different boxes of hair dye two weeks later.

***

Michael's hair is lilac and he's scrolling through his phone when Luke stumbles into the tour bus, eyes wide like a deer or something.

Michael looks up, eyebrows raised, and, okay. They've been on better terms, but ever since Michael had spilled about the stupid colors thing, they both still danced around each other like a lame pair of mediocre ballerinas. It was hardly ever that they talked without Calum or Ashton in the room, and the last time Michael had pulled Luke into a hug he'd stiffened up and squeaked like some kind of rodent before rushing off.

Michael's totally not blaming either of them for the separation, except Luke can't even handle a damn  _hug_ from Michael. It's not like Michael wants this, either, and he mostly ignores the fact that he's stupidly and numbingly in love with his best friend ( _soul mate)_.

Luke's eyes are still wide, and he's staring at the top of Michael's head like something strange and unbelievable had happened to it. Michael frowns and pats around it, but it  _feels_ like his hair is okay. Michael eyes Luke. "Is everything okay with you?" he asks, unsure what's really going on.

"Fans told me your hair was now purple," Luke says, sounding breathless. "What shade?"

Michael feels himself harden. His jaw pumps open and closed a few times, and he's wondering if he should dramatically accuse Luke of something before stalking off. He's wondering if he  _feels_ like doing that.

But he just feels tired, so he lets himself fall back, sighing a little. "It's this...lilac. Like, lighter. Dunno if you could tell the difference in gray-scale."

Luke sits down, blue eyes glittering brightly, cheeks flushed with a soft pink color. He looks beautiful and young and Michael's heart tugs a little but he ignores it, because  _no._

"Tell me more," Luke demands, and there's a weird half-smile on his face that Michael doesn't understand.

"What?"

"Describe it. The color, I mean. Please, Mikey," Luke says, and Michael wants to be angry at how easy that pet name falls from Luke's lips, like it was meant to be there. What Michael actually is angry about is the fact that Luke could never be his. He's angry that he has to deny the fact that he's in fucking love with Luke and that's the whole reason he can see lilac in the first place.

But he's still so tired, so Michael says, "Are you. Sure? Is this a good idea?"

Luke bits at his cheeks, and there's something like shame darkening Luke's sky eyes, and oh. Yeah. There it is.

"Please?" Luke asks, quiet and unstable.

Michael blows air out through his mouth, and, yeah, okay. "It's like. Purple and lilac are different, at least to me, in my mind. Purple is like a powerful gust of wind at night and the feeling you get when you wake up really early in the morning. Purple smells like copper mixed with aristocracy and clean linens, and it feels like a comfortable suit that your mom forced you into at a wedding.

"But, like,  _lilac._ That's flowery and pretty and I'm definitely not ashamed to say it's good, it's beautiful. Lilac is the hint of daisies in an ocean breeze or some other poetic metaphor shit, and lilac's perfume on the delicate wrist of a girl. Lilac feels like light cotton in spring heat and makes you feel lighter than air, and, I don't know. It was a good change after bold red."

Luke hums, looks down at his hands. "Sounds pretty."

Michael smiles and it's definitely not nice but he feels surprisingly fine anyway. "Yeah."

Luke swallows, and he's picking at an old scab on the back of his hand, eyes carefully drawn down. Then, "I liked the red, though."

"What, in gray-scale? Could you tell?" Michael's confused.

"Um. No. Not in gray-scale."

Michael feels like the walls are closing in suddenly, which is kind of funny considering this probably just opened up a new door or something for him. But Luke's smiling at him and it's blurring together and he's put the pieces together but hasn't seen the whole puzzle yet so he just stands up, stammers, "I gotta go," and just  _leaves._

***

When he comes back, his hair is blue.

And Luke's not there either, which is kind of good and bad, mostly because they need to talk. And Michael's not sure he could make it through the conversation.

But when Ashton gets back, he nearly cusses Michael out, because, " _There you are._  Why the fuck is Luke crying?" 

Michael swallows. "I don't. There's. Confusion." 

Ashton eyes him. Suddenly, he says, "You see color, right?"

"Yeah."

Ashton nods, but he already knew that. None of them talked about it, but they all  _knew._ "Well, Luke's talking about colors too and how pretty your lilac hair is."

"Yeah," he says, because he can't think of anything else to say.

"You two need to figure things out."

"Yeah," he says, and this time he stands up, his throat feeling thick and raw. "Where is he?"

"Back of the bus."

Michael nods. "I'm sorry, Ash," Michael says quietly.

Ashton smiles, a little tight-lipped but still there. "Just get this sorted out, okay?"

"Yeah."

***

Luke's eyes are red-rimmed and his nose is coated in snot and somehow he still manages to look beautiful.

Michael considers that to be really unfair.

Luke looks up, and he gapes. "You changed it," he says. It's not a question, but a fact, and Michael sighs because yeah, Luke wasn't actually bluffing. Luke can see the colors too.

Michael sits down on Luke's bunk. "I did," he said softly, running his hands through Luke's yellow-white hair. "It's blue like your eyes. Your hair is blond, and I hate seeing you with red-rimmed eyes. So, stop crying."

Luke laughs and it sounds clogged by something. He stares up at Michael. "Your hair is blue, your eyes are candy-apple green, and your shirt is white and black," he says just as softly.

Michael nods, his mouth trembling a little, but he knows he's happy, he  _knows_ it. There's a balloon in his chest forcing its way up. "I love you," he says.

"Good, I love you too," Luke says and just like that they kiss.

Michael feels almost like he's burning, and it almost hurts a little. But the thing is, he knows--if Michael were to die like this, burning out from Luke's touch, he'd choose that over anything else, every single time, because the balloon in his chest has burst, spreading something lighter than helium into his bloodstream and making him almost float. The only thing keeping him actually anchored to the ground is Luke's strong hands, gripping either side of him with a ferocity that makes him crave Luke even more, somehow.

They break off and Luke's still whispering I love yous as he peppers kisses all along Michael's skin, and yeah, he's waited a while for this, but  _god_ it was worth the wait.

Michael nudges Luke's chin up. "Shut up, Luke," Michael says fondly.

Luke rolls his eyes and responds with a, "Shut up, Mikey," before diving in for another kiss.

It's even more perfect than their last one, in the way that their next one will be even better than this one.

Michael thinks that he could live like this forever. 

And he smiles, because the thing is--he will.

 


End file.
